


road-tripped reunion

by wannabejasmine



Category: Ride or Die (Visual Novel)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Fluff and Humor, maybe this will ease my disappointment, rest in peace book 2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:21:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wannabejasmine/pseuds/wannabejasmine
Summary: where one year later, MC & Logan go on a cross country road trip, clearing names and bailing people out of jail in the hopes of reuniting the Mercy Park Crew
Relationships: Logan/Main Character (Ride or Die)
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

**[prologue]  
  
**

The Northern California summer lingers in stretches of languid, sultry rays of sunshine, bubble tea and rolled ice cream runs, and the dizzying letters of differential equations. 

She should be grateful for the opportunity to be in Langston’s honors program. It's ' _competitive and prestigious'_ , according to the overly-decorated website. And her peers are motivated, sharp, kind. The classes are rewarding. But her old life shows up everywhere, drawing up fresh feelings of nostalgia and heartache. All of the could’ve-been’s, and the wishes-to-be’s. 

It shows up when her and her new friends watch _Angels on the Outfield_ on one of their throwback movie nights; as everyone else in the cramped dorm room laughs at the admittedly comical clip of a young Matthew McConaughey flapping his arms in a baseball field, her own mind conjures up images of the feathery, dark swirls of ink that lashed across Toby’s neck. His wing tattoo. It shows up whenever a Kendrick Lamar song pulsates through the speakers of her car, the kick drum fanning out vibrations on the seats.  
  


_She looked up in her rearview mirror, seeing Colt’s amused face in the backseat. “You’ve got taste. I’m stunned.”  
  
_

And it shows up– no. It burns. A dull pain nestles in her ribcage whenever she reaches up and touches the silver chain around her neck, rolling the cold metal in her fingertips, remembering how his own hand wrapped around hers, that day.   
  


_He presses the spark plug necklace into her hand, closing her fingers around it._ _“Hey, do me a favor? Hang on to this for me. It's kept me safe. Maybe it’ll do the same for you.”_

  
As June and July stumble on, Riya and Darius try to console her during their video calls, but it’s hard for them to understand why she misses it all so much. Misses them, so much. 

_“Aren’t there any guys in your major? Electrical engineering classes have to be filled with dudes!”_

_“Dare!” Riya glares at the camera. “First of all, sexist! Second of all, you remember how heartbroken we were when we broke up! She can’t just get over him so fast!”_

_“I didn’t say that STEM isn’t inherently sexist! I’m just offering a solution!”_

Eventually, August falls upon her, and her first year of college begins. And, honestly, it’s all she could’ve asked for. The classic, idyllic college experience. Her professors are brilliant, and friends come easy– even Ingrid and her had managed a truce, as they lived on the same dorm floor– her grades stay high, and the lingering heartbreak starts to fade with each passing day. 

But when Thanksgiving break rolls around and she drives home, something strikes a match within her. Maybe it's the constant reminder of what used to be, as she drives on the familiar roads, passes the bridge where they last saw Kaneko, cruises under the overpass that Logan and her shattered when they ran from the police. It seems that she has one, single hope– Colt is the only one that she knows for a fact is still in the area. Avenging his father and going after The Brotherhood. 

So, she texts him. No response. She calls him. Nothing. 

The night before she has to drive back to campus, after he doesn’t pick up, once again, she finds herself angrily rolling out of bed and onto the driver’s seat. Thirty minutes later, she weaves past the graffitied walls and unsuspecting, dilapidated buildings in Gramercy Park, before braking hard in front of the familiar garage door. The last time she saw it, her vision was nearly stained crimson from the sight of the large plumes of fire that overwhelmed its walls. She ducks out of her car and slowly walks towards it. The metal is still singed, and dusty piles of ashes still stick to the concrete. But its old self still peeks through, and she has to suppress the flood of memories– Ximena’s loud laughter, the oil stains on Toby’s shirt, the bitter smell of Kaneko’s cigarettes– that tempts to surface as she approaches it. Getting on her knees, she grips the edge of the door, tugging up as hard as she can. 

“Come on!” A few of her fingernails break before she steps back with a huff and violently kicks the metal. “Where are you, Colt?” But her frustrated screams echo into the warm, dark night, never reaching the ears of the people that she desperately misses, misses so much that her heart hurts. And she sulks the remainder of the way home, West Coast hip hop vibrating through the speakers. 

After that disheartening experience, she doesn’t even try to reach out every time she visits home. Not on Christmas, not on spring break. _If he wants her out of his life, then fine. She’s out._

And, by the end of the year, she’s almost content with being out. Of all of it. Her heart is being slowly stitched back together, perhaps with tepid strings, but it's there. She settles on buying a faded jewelry box from a thrift store with an ' _L'_ on it, and gently tucks the necklace inside of it, before pushing the box deep into her bedside drawer. When the vivid memories surface, though unwanted, she looks back on them fondly. 

But that all goes to hell on her last day of class. 


	2. a dusty daydream

“Thank god! I actually thought that was never going to end!” 

As they nearly spill out of the lecture hall onto the grassy quad, Ingrid cathartically throws her hands up and tilts her head back to the clouds. Wearing a relieved smile, Lea holds her textbook tighter to her chest. “Who knew that a professor could somehow make his goodbye lecture last longer than a normal one?” 

“Only at Langston."

The two girls share breathless laughter and feverish ramblings about summer plans all the way back to their dorm hall. “Are you sure you don’t want a ride?” She gingerly folds the last of Ingrid’s skirts into the cardboard box. “I’m going straight back to L.A.”

Between tosses of nail polish into her duffel bag, Ingrid waves her hands dismissively. “Stop! You’re already helping me pack, which is like, huge. The amount of tank tops I own should be criminal.”

Another laugh leaves her sore-from-smiling mouth, both at Ingrid’s comment, and at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. _Who would’ve thought, one year ago, that they’d be...friends? Helping each other move out at the end of their freshman year?_ “Alright.” She hobbles back to her feet with an unwilling sigh. “I should get going, then.” 

To her surprise, a fleeting look of disappointment flickers on Ingrid’s face. “Aw. Okay.” 

As she draws out the last piece of duct tape onto another cardboard box, she raises her eyebrows. “Ingrid, you know that we live in the same city, right?”

Ingrid huffs with that quintessential flip of her hair. “Yeah, but I have an image to maintain there.” 

_And there’s the Ingrid she knows._

“But, for real.” Ingrid steps over the scattered, overfilled boxes and puts her hands on her shoulders. “I’m glad we worked things out. I don’t know if I would’ve survived differential equations without you.” 

In the most astonishing, delightfully ironic kind of twist– Ingrid throws her arms around her. She can’t help but smile as they hold each other tight, before reluctantly letting go. “Same.”

As she lingers in the doorway, Ingrid sends her off with an affable flourish of yet another tank top. “Drive safe.” 

And after a final wave, she all but skips to the parking lot, throwing one last suitcase into the cramped– but endearing– backseat of her car. And with a quick turn of the ignition, she’s back on the familiar highway, yet again.

For plain reasons, she hardly drove during the school year. But it doesn’t matter if it’s been a day, week, or month– it’s always the same. The gentle, warm wind as soon as the windows tip open, the way that the music pours out in smooth, rhythmic melody from her speakers, how together she feels as the engine whispers under her foot, how her fingers dance across the rough leather of her steering wheel. Completely assured. _It’s better than being high. Which she tried once at a party this year. It did not go well._

As the dusty, California desert sweeps past her in gusts of dirt and sand, she does the most stereotypical, predictable thing that she possibly do; she throws the windows down, spins open the sunroof, and laughs sunnily as her hair whisks back in the air, the messy strands lashing at her cheeks as her sneaker presses harder on the gas pedal. For that one moment– after her first year of college is over, after all of her stress dwindles into nothing– she feels free. Like she’s flying. 

After about forty, idle minutes on the long stretch of road, if it wasn’t for the chirpy pop music that beats deep into her body, she wouldn’t have heard a very familiar, stirring sound.

A pleasant buzz that precedes a soothing hum; a soft, thin sound that sweeps over her like a fine mist, the brushing of feathers on exposed skin. A sound that can be quickly rendered silent, especially when it’s being chased by flashing red and blue lights. And she barely registers the streak of bright yellow that’s flying down the opposite side of the highway until it’s close enough that she can see the sleek band of black running down its middle.

When she finally senses it in her peripherals, a static current zips up her spinal column; she instinctively turns the music down and pulls off her sunglasses. And she hears it. And sees it.

_A 2005 Devore GT._

Immediately, her heart rate shoots straight to the sky, daring the confines of her ribcage in just a few, insignificant moments. Her eyes dart from the road in front of her to the yellow car, and she feels heat swell under her right foot as it steadily encourages the gas pedal. The two cars bolt recklessly down the stretch of road until they meet in a dizzying blur. It almost happens in slow motion: her head snaps to the left, her eyes forced to narrow as the sheer speed causes the wind to whip violently against her. With her breath still suspended in her chest, for that split second that they cross each other, through the strands of hair still viciously lashing at her eyes, she sees him, looking right back at her.

_It's him._

And even after they pass, her head is still turned, completely ignorant to the fact that she’s _still on a sprawling highway_ , the beat of her own heart louder than that of the music. _No. It can’t be. That’s not him. That can’t be him._

After a few more desperate attempts to catch her breath, she spares a quick glance in her rearview mirror. But the bright yellow and black is still there. 

_No– it’s stopped. On the side of the highway._

A disbelieving gasp tumbles from her mouth, and she abruptly spins to the side of the road, her body lurching forward against the dashboard. Her car spins up billows of dust as the brakes force her forward. Entirely dazed, she unbuckles her seatbelt and opens the door; her eyes squint through the dust particles still whirling in the air, and she immediately feels the unrelenting, searing sunrays on her head. As she turns around, she sees him duck out of his own door. For a few seconds, they stare at each other, a handful of hundred feet away. And, slowly, she takes small steps, off of the sandy dirt and onto the dark asphalt, each tiny footfall just another in this dusty, dry daydream. 

Then, she sees him. Really sees him. Close enough to see the white of his shirt, vivid against the tumbleweeds behind him, see the veins in his arms that her lips have traced, see the dark hazel of his eyes, the ones where she’s counted each and every fleck of brown, stared into each deeply dilated pupil. 

He starts taking slow, hesitant steps. And she starts running. Sprinting across the highway, seemingly unaware that cars could be incoming at any moment, sneakers pounding the hot asphalt, her legs somehow not working hard enough to carry her to him. She makes the final jump and throws her arms around him. And she is home. Fingers curled in the familiar, soft, brown hair and spread on tan skin, breathing in smoke and pine, feeling like she belongs against his tall, steady frame. 

A winded chuckle presses into her hair as she feels herself lifted off the ground and slowly spun. When she pulls back, her hands find his jaw as she finally stares into the kind, piercing irises and at the gentle curves and lines of his face for the first time in a year. _Too long_. And she searches his eyes, waiting for a handful of breaths, before she leans up and presses her lips against his. For a few moments, they’re suspended in space and time, wrapped in something smaller, just them. His arms firmly circle her waist and pull her tight against his chest as their lips find each other, mouths tip open for each other, tongues wind together, like no time has passed at all. She’s not sure if it's been seconds or minutes until a loud, resounding honk forces them apart, and she realizes that they are still very much in the middle of a highway, and a sixty-five mile per hour truck is barreling towards them. 

He quickly tugs her back across the road and spins to press her against the shiny spread of his car, shielding her from the cloud of dust that the truck gives rise to as it speeds past them. The rush of air picks her hair up, and she huffs an incredulous, dazed laugh, as she watches a dazzling grin spread across her favorite face, on her favorite person.

“Hey, troublemaker. You didn’t check your blind spot.”

**Author's Note:**

> apparently langston is on the east coast, but we're just gonna roll with it you know


End file.
